


French(ish) Mistake

by kazosa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, French(ish) Mistake, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 07:48:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15408354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazosa/pseuds/kazosa
Summary: Dean had watched the only woman he'd ever been in love with die a horrible death. Several years passed and he thought he might be finally over her, until he and his brother are suddenly thrust into another world.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

GIF [Originally posted by dustydreamsanddirtyscars](https://tmblr.co/ZUhvXx2Sn51yq)

    Dean looked around the house, still wary of this strange world they found themselves in. Being in Sam’s house the day before had been weird enough, especially when they found out he was married to Fake Ruby. Dean crept around the corner into the kitchen. It actually sparkled.

    “Who has a kitchen this clean?” he wondered aloud.

    Sam followed his brother into the room and walked around toward the dining room. He looked back in time to see Dean reaching up to touch one of the pots hanging on a rack over the stove. Tapping on the pot a few times, it suddenly sprang off the rack crashing to the stove top. Sam gave him a dirty look, but he didn’t care, in this world, it was his house. After a peek in the fridge, they continued their look around the house, ending in the living room.

    “Dude, you have a nice house,” Sam acknowledged.

    “No. This ain’t my house. It’s that ‘Jensen’ guy’s house. I’d never have something like this,” he shot him down. There was a time when he would have given anything to have this with (Y|N), but that time had come and gone. Hunting had taken her away from him, just like everyone he ever loved.

    Sam was looking at the pictures on the mantel and Dean went over to the foyer to look around over there, too. There was a fancy staircase that led to a second floor. He was debating whether or not to go up and check things out when Sam spoke up.

    “Dude…” he said, “You’re… Jensen… he’s married.”

    Sam looked solemn and was holding a picture up, indicating Dean should see it. Dean turned to approach his brother, but Sam held his hand out to stop him. “Wait, maybe you shouldn’t see this.”

    “What? What’s going on? Why’d you say it like that? Is she hideous? Guy as good looking as us should have a supermodel…” he got cut off by a voice coming from the stairs.

* * *

    You’d heard a loud crash coming from the kitchen. Judging by the sound, you figured Jensen was messing around with the pots again. He liked to have them in order from largest to smallest. He was supposed to be back later today, though, it made you wonder what he was doing back so early. You decided you better go see what happened.

    Reaching the top of the stairs, you called to him, “Jensen? Is that you? Where are you?”

    Going half-way down the stairs, you saw your husband and Jared in the living room messing with your wedding photo. Something was off though. It looked like they were wearing clothes from wardrobe, and they were getting along. You couldn’t remember the last time Jensen brought Jared to the house. As you got down to the foyer, they both turned to look at you. The looks on their faces worried you even more. They looked so different, so… what was the word, both scared and relieved? What the hell was going on?

    “Jensen, I wasn’t expecting you ‘til later. Hi Jared,” you said.

* * *

    Dean hadn’t seen her in years. She looked beautiful. His heart did that weird jump in his chest that it always had done when he saw her, and he remembered how it broke the last time he saw her, broken and bloody, dying in his arms.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talking about the past and how each of the characters is sure that the other is who they say they are.

##  [French(ish) Mistake - Part 2](https://kazosa.tumblr.com/post/171853120685/frenchish-mistake-part-2)

**Summary:** Talking about the past and how each of the characters is sure that the other is who they say they are.

 **A/N:** I hadn’t really intended to extend this, but here I am, writing more. I did this on the fly, too, so I hope you aren’t all disappointed.

[PART 1 ](https://kazosa.tumblr.com/post/171260385135/frenchish-mistake)

   He couldn’t get to her in time… She was supposed to wait for him and Sam before she went in. (Y|N) was a skilled hunter, and it should have been an easy case… if she’d just waited longer… If he’d driven faster, maybe she wouldn’t have died.

    It had taken him years to bury the memory of her body surrounded by ghouls, tearing her apart. He buried the memory along with the feel of her lifeless body in his arms as he carried her to the Impala.

    Sam did most of the work building the pyre. Dean just couldn’t bear to leave her for too long. When he sat with her, he pulled a simple silver band out of his pocket and slipped it on her finger. Sam came over right after and they put her on the pyre.

    Dean made sure she was secured and poured salt over her cloth-wrapped body. Sam poured gas all around the base of the wood. They stood up wind and Dean struck a match from the matchbook, lighting the rest on fire, before tossing it down into the gas-soaked wood. As the flames rose, he made a plea to God.

    _“Please, God, if you’re listening… give her back to me. Let her be whole again… I promise, I’ll keep her safe. Just don’t… don’t let this be the end.”_

    The fire burned bright for a few moments, almost blinding and, just as quickly, it was gone.

    “Jensen? Jensen, are you okay?” you went down the remaining stairs to the foyer floor. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

    Jensen had come into your life very suddenly. The last thing you remembered before everything went dark, was Dean screaming your name. You knew you were dying as the sound of his voice faded. You hadn’t expected to wake up. You’d been sure that it was the end. Only you did wake up, and it was to Dean’s handsome face, leaning over yours.

* * *

    _“Hey, sweetheart, you okay?” he asked. His expression held one of obvious concern._

_Getting up on an elbow, your head pounding, you surveyed your surroundings. Nothing looked right. You’d been in an old, abandoned warehouse in Texas. Where you woke up, while it was definitely as hot as Texas, was completely different. It was outdoors, grassy, and in the distance, you thought you heard water. The sun was intensely bright and your head throbbed harder with every moment you tried to keep your eyes open._

_“C’mon, let’s get you to the shade,” he suggested, grabbing your arm to help you up._

    _Nearby, there was a bench under a big shade tree that over looked the water you’d heard, a fountain. You guessed that you were in a park, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Dean looked really weird. Only one time in your life had you ever seen him wear one layer out in public. As if that weren’t bad enough, he had a sweatband in his hair, sunglasses hung low on the tanktop he wore, and…what the hell?…shorts. Dean, your Dean, Mr. “I don’t do shorts,” was actually wearing shorts!? It was almost comical. You might have laughed if you didn’t have a splitting headache._

_“Dean? What the hell are you wearing? What happened? Where are we? I thought I was dead back there,” you said._

_He sighed, seemingly disappointed in you for some reason._

_“You’re in a park, in Austin, Texas and I think you might have heat exhaustion. Oh, and I’m Jensen. Dean is just a guy I play on TV,” the man who was so clearly Dean, said._

    _You looked at him like he was crazy, but you could see that he believed what he was telling you. The sunglasses pulled his tank top low, showing that the demon warding tattoo was gone. He made you go to the hospital with him. That was when the “Jensen” story started looking less like a story and more like reality…_

* * *

    You liked Jensen a lot. He was great most of the time. He was decent enough to be around, but he was no Dean. Jensen could be a colossal douche and routinely embarrassed you when you’d go out to dinner. You never realized so many things could be ordered on the side.

    Since Jensen was an actor, there was a part of him that was Dean. Sometimes it came out on accident, sometimes it was on purpose. That small part of Jensen, the one where your Dean lived, was why you married him. Hell, he was gone most of the time and when he was around, he certainly did his best to make you happy. When “Dean” came home with him, it was even better.

* * *

    “What? Oh, Jensen,” he cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m good. I just… I’m really happy to see you.” He could feel himself get jittery, pushing past Sam. He crossed the room to meet (Y|N) where the foyer stepped down into the living room. She was smiling at him… at Jensen, just like how he remembered her. She put her hands on his face, still smiling. My god, she’s real, he thought. Her hands were warm on his face. If he was dreaming, he didn’t want to wake up. She didn’t have far to lean down, and her lips pressed to his. Had he died? Was this his heaven? He’d missed her so much…

    He wrapped his arms around her, his hands gripping her shirt and jeans. He nipped her lip, getting her to open up to him. Her arms went around his shoulders, her hand in his hair.

* * *

    Jensen had never kissed you like that, not even when you’d tried to get him to do it like Dean. Jensen’s style of aggressive had always been different than Dean. Dean was the one that would bite your lip. Dean was the one who would hold you like every time was the last time, because it could be. You loved Jensen in your own way, but Dean was always the one that held your heart and you’d tried for years to get back to him.

    Breaking away, you took a deep breath. Your hands went back to his face, your eyes searching his. Pulse hammering in your neck, eyes wide, “Oh my god. Dean? Is it you? Is it really you?”

    Dean looked at you with tears in his eyes, “Yeah, sweetheart, it’s me.”

* * *

    Sam stood back and watched closely as events unfolded in front of him. If this woman really was (Y|N), he had a lot of questions. If she wasn’t (Y|N), she was a surprisingly good actress. After all, in this world, Jared and Jensen were both actors, she could be, too. This woman did cling to his brother like she hadn’t seen him in years. Though, she could think he was Jensen.

    “How… how do I know it’s you? How did you get here? Are we dead? Is this heaven? Sam? Sam, is that you? Oh God, where are Jensen and Jared?” she was freaking out. Dean gathered her in to his arms again to calm her.

    Sam understood how she felt. There was no explanation for any of it. He didn’t know why she was there, suddenly alive, and he damn sure didn’t know why he and Dean were there…

    “Not to be the Debbie Downer on this reunion, but… how do we know you’re (Y|N)? I mean, she was dead, and I want to believe you, but…” Sam was being the voice of reason.

    Dean let go of (Y|N). He’d been the one to make sure she was dead. He’d watched her body burn, just to be sure. But that light, it was so bright…

    “I have questions, too,” you said. “I want to believe you’re the Sam and Dean I knew, but how? And I how do I know you’re not just Jensen and Jared messing with me?”

   “Tell me something only (Y|N) would know about me,” Dean said.

    “You have an anti-possession tattoo on your chest,” you said. It was the first thing that came to mind.

    “You’re gonna have to do better than that,” Sam said. Both he and Dean showed their tattoos.

    The love of your life was looking back at you with suspicious eyes.

    “Dean, it’s me, I promise. Okay, when we were younger, before Sam came back, you told me you wanted to go find some cabin in the middle of nowhere and give up hunting,” you started.

    Dean toed the carpet under his feet.

    “Don’t wipe your boots on the carpet, damnit,” you admonished him. “And Sam, who did you call when you needed advice about asking out Jess?”

    “That was all in the show,” Sam said quietly.

    You knew what you could say to Dean. It had been four years, but it was as fresh in your mind as you assumed it would be in his. Standing in front of him, your right hand went to your left, twisting your engagement and wedding rings from Jensen.

    You looked Dean in the eye as you spoke, “We made a promise to each other. We said if we made it to 30, we would give up hunting, get married, find that cabin in the middle of nowhere, and start a family. You told me you loved me and I gave you a silver band with the word ‘Always’ inscribed in it.” You barely noticed Sam’s shocked expression as you went on. Dean’s attention was fully on you. “I don’t have to see your hands, or necklace, to know you don’t have the ring anymore.”

    “(Y|N), I didn’t lose it, I swear, I …” Dean tried to explain.

    You pulled off the gold bands from your left ring finger, holding up your now bare hand for him to see. The word ‘Always’ was tattooed on your bare ring finger, in the same script as you’d had the engravers use on the ring.

    “I know I was dead, Dean. I don’t know what you did, or what kind of deal you made, but, whatever it was, sent me here.”

    Dean swallowed hard. It really was her. He never told anyone, not even Sam about that. Not only was (Y|N) alive, but God had heard him **and** answered his prayer. For a moment, he did wonder why it had taken 4 years. She’d made a life in this world with an actor, pf all people. Would she even want to go back with him?

    “Now you,” she said, taking his hand and walking with him to where Sam stood by the door to the backyard. “You both look like you’re ready to bolt.”

    “Are you a demon or something? How did you get to be here?” Sam asked.

    “There’s no magic here, Sam. Nothing goes bump in the night except the raccoons in my trash cans. I’d really rather not cut myself, there’s no angels handy to heal me instantly. Besides, you need to prove who you are, too. For all I know, you’re just Jared and Jensen messing with me.”

    Dean rolled his eyes at the thought of being an actor. They’d had to go through that disaster already, he didn’t care to relive it again, in any form. Sam needed to think of something significant that only he and (Y|N) knew about and wasn’t on the show, either.

  “Okay. I’ve got it,” he backhanded Dean’s shoulder. “Dad and Dean were gone on a case, and you came to stay with me. You, ah…” Sam glanced at Dean, suddenly regretting his choice. “…you taught me to dance.”

    Dean whirled on you, clearly, appalled.

    “It was you?” Dean’s face contorted in horror. “You’re the one responsible for the spastic movements he calls dancing?”

    “At least Sam tried. The Dean I knew wouldn’t be caught dead dancing, let alone, with me. No matter how many times I asked him,” you were staring him down, daring him to deny it. He was spinning his wheels trying to think of a good excuse. Feeling slightly salty about Sam’s dance ability, which was NOT your fault, you came at him with, “Jensen dances with me. He’s a great dancer.”

    Sam cleared his throat. You were unsure if he was amused or uncomfortable.

    “Okay, okay, but Dean, what was the thing only you and (Y|N) had together? With all the time you two spent together, there had to be something that was just between you two,” Sam said.

    Of course, there was something, and there was no way you were going to let him off the hook.

    “Alright fine, it’s really you. How are we getting outta here?” he blustered.

    “Oh hell no,” Sam beat you to it. “I told mine, you gotta say yours.”

    “Yeah, spill it, Dean,” you said. “Can’t be any worse than Sam’s dancing, right? No offense, Sam.”

    He put his hand up by his mouth and the words came out garbled.

    “She … me how… ….,” he muttered and started looking around the house for something to drink. “Is there no beer in this house?”

    “Um… what was that?” Sam asked, eyebrow raised.

    “Where’s the whiskey?” Dean said loudly.

    “Oh no. No no. You need to say it. For Sam and for me,” you said. You had missed Dean quite a lot, and you’d forgotten what an ass he could be. It had been so strange to be with Jensen. Jensen was a completely different man that looked exactly like Dean. Separating the two would not be easy. You’d been with Jensen just as long as you’d been with Dean. The comparisons were endless.

    Dean was rifling through a cabinet looking for anything that might even resemble alcohol. The last two days had been insane. Literally dropping into a television set in Vancouver, of all places. Sam was some Polish dude, married to fake Ruby, and living in some insane house. This guy he was supposed to be was, obviously good-looking, and married to (Y|N), only she wasn’t some actress, she was the real deal. He never told Sam about the agreement he and (Y|N) made, and he really didn’t want to admit, in front of Sam, what his story was.

    “Get on with it, Dean, spill,” you prodded. “Who knows how long you’re here. I’d like to know who I’m talking to.”

    “Alright, fine. So, we’re just gonna,” he was gesturing wildly, “lay it all out there, is that it?”

    Sam had come to stand near you. Maybe you had gotten him to believe you. Sam could be a hard sell, but he seemed willing to give you a shot. It was a bit of a relief. The last year or so, you’d been wondering if you were crazy, thinking you were delusional, maybe even psychotic.

    “I mean,” Dean went on, “what do we really know? Sam dances like a spaz, that doesn’t prove anything. (Y|N) didn’t really dance, either.”

    You looked up at Sam and winked, then turned back to Dean, “That’s because what the Moose does isn’t what I taught him.” You went over to the stereo and plugged in your phone. Quickly picking a song, you went back to Sam, “Care to dance?”

    Sam smiled and took you in his arms as the sounds of Glenn Miller’s “Blue Orchids” played. Looking up at Sam, you could see that he believed you. He was a little rusty with the dance steps, but he did a good job. The song ended but Sam kept hold of you, ready for the next one.

    “I can’t believe it’s really you,” Sam was quiet in your ear.

    “Okay, that’s enough of that,” Dean tried to stop you and Sam.

    In response, Sam just pulled you closer and you laughed. It felt normal for just a second.

    “You have something to tell us Dean?” Sam said, still pushing you around your living room.

    Sam slowed you down to a gentle sway, having proved you both knew how to dance and not look like two spazzes. Dean was doing a slow walk around the living room, his hands on his hips. He looked anywhere but at you and Sam. Finally he came to a stop and turned to face you.

    “(Y|N) taught me to crochet. I asked her to, and I like it,” Dean admitted, though he looked like he’d just been forced to eat kale.

    The words had been spoken crystal clear. They were out there now, no taking them back. Dean Winchester crocheted, and he liked it. He’d been through a lot in his life, but that was one of the braver things he’d done. Liberating even. No more sneaking around, hiding his yarn and hooks. Looking at the expression on Sam’s face, he kept his own rock solid, just waiting for the inevitable razzing that would be coming his way.

    “What?” Dean asked. Sam was just staring at him. “It relaxes me. Shut up.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lots of mixed emotions and confusion. Sam pushes Dean and the reader to talk things out.

**Summary:** lots of mixed emotions and confusion. Sam pushes Dean and the reader to talk things out.

 **A/N:** sorry if I ramble a little in this one, but they NEED to talk about things.

 **Warnings:** language, implied smut

    The whole wall that separated the dining from the living room was floor to ceiling book shelves. Dean scanned the spines of the books. Silently, he scoffed at the titles, most of the books were about sports, autobiographies of actors, acting techniques, fiction novels, and… looked like (Y|N) had made a special section of what he assumed were for supernatural research.

    Pictures and decorative glass pieces filled the empty spaces on the bookshelves. Dean’s gaze landed on a picture frame that held 3 photos of both (Y|N) and Jensen. They looked happy, especially Jensen. It was more than a little strange to be jealous of a guy who pretended to be him.

    He was still having a tough time wrapping his head around everything that happened. Almost 5 years had passed since he’d watched her body burn. There were a lot of questions that needed answers.

    You saw Dean holding the frame with the 3 pictures in it. One was of you and Jensen at the beach, Jensen showing off a cake he made and decorated for you, and one where you’d visited set and he was in costume. That last picture was your favorite. 

    Excusing yourself from talking with Sam, you got up from the couch and crossed the space to Dean. You touched his arm with one hand, and the picture frame he was still holding, with the other. 

    “He took me to Hawaii between seasons,” you touched the picture of you two on the beach. “That’s the birthday cake he made for me on my birthday last year. It tasted terrible, but he tried so hard. That top one is my favorite. Jensen really knows how to play… you. 

    You let Dean put the frame back on the bookshelf where he found it. He’d gotten “that look” on his face. His features had gone hard, almost angry, then settling into sadness.

    His house, Jensen’s house, was big. It wasn’t as ostentatious as Jared’s, by any means. Despite the enormity of the home, it was surprisingly comfortable, almost cozy. Dean could tell it wasn’t your house first. The furnishings were not her style, but he could see her touch scattered around. It looked like the guy she married was taking care of her, at least.

    “Dean…” you looked up at him.

    “Got anything to eat?” he cut you off. He didn’t want to hear what he was sure she was going to say next. “I’m starving.”

    You could see Dean was uncomfortable. For him, you had been dead. Seeing you alive and married to someone who looked exactly like him had to have been both insane and gut-wrenching. You decided not to press the issue just yet, but you guessed Dean would start comping at the bit soon enough.

    “Sure, I can make you guys something, let’s go in the kitchen,” you suggested.

    Sam didn’t miss much of the exchange. The look on Dean’s face mirrored his own feelings. (Y|N)’d been part of the family, and her loss had his him almost as hard. As he got up from the couch, he struggled to put the pieces together.

    “Tell me about the ring,” Sam asked as he entered the kitchen behind them.

    “It was just a simple silver band,” Dean said.

    “C’mon, Dean, obviously it wasn’t just a simple band. What did you do, exactly?” Sam persisted.

    “I had the jeweler inscribe it, but that’s it. No magic. It was purely sentimental,” you added.

    Dean rolled his eyes so hard you could almost hear him. He always hated how you and Sam could so easily speak the same clinical language.

    “It was NOT purely sentimental,” Dean said. “I put it on your body because I couldn’t stand to look at it every day, knowing you were dead.”

    “But there had to be something else,” you said. “I didn’t get here out of luck and good deeds. This definitely isn’t Heaven.”

    “Look, can we talk about this later?” Dean asked. His eyes were focused on the beer bottle in his fingers, before briefly flashing to the “Always” tattooed on your finger.

    “Dean, we need to figure out what happened, so we can get back to where we belong,” Sam tried to prod him into telling them more.

    “I said I don’t want to talk about it,” Dean’s voice boomed in the kitchen. He glared at Sam and took his beer out of the kitchen.

* * *

    You had seen that look on Jensen’s face before. It showed up on his face when he was hiding something. Unfortunately, you’d been seeing that look on his face a lot lately. Sam was going to go talk to him, but you convinced him to stay put. The Dean you remembered would need time to calm down a little.

    “So,” Sam began, “as I recall, you were like a bloodhound on a scent when it came to research. What’d you find?”

    You laughed. He wasn’t wrong. When there was something you were after, nothing would stop you.

    “I may or may not have hunted down Balthazar,” you told him, uncertainty in your voice.

   “What? Balthazar is here? Where is he? How do we talk to him? He should have the juice to get us back.”

    “Sam!” if you let him continue, he wouldn’t stop, either. “I HUNTED him down. He didn’t like it too much. I can’t get close to him anymore.”

* * *

    A few of the pieces fell into place for Sam. She’d tried, and tried hard, to get back to their world. You watched as the realization of what you had done wash over his face, going from solemn to amused. 

    “Restraining order?” he laughed.

    You were getting out the dishes and feeling defensive.

    “Dude, I woke up here. You guys were no where to be found. Jensen found me and took care of me. People thought I was crazy, and I thought I might be, too. I got a little…overzealous. I… I had to stop looking, for my own sanity. I didn’t know what world was real. I had to accept that this one was what was real.”

   Sam’s face turned solemn again.

   “I’m sorry, (Y|N), it must have been hard for you, too.”

    “Wasn’t all bad. Great house, good -looking husband, no monsters trying to eat me.”

    You pulled out the chicken from the oven and told Sam where the serving dishes were for the sides, so you could go look for Dean. You found him in your favorite room. It was a small den near Jensen’s office. It was your space completely. The room was like Bobby’s cabin. The floors were wood, worn leather furniture, TV on the wall, built-in bookshelves filled with all things you.

 

* * *

    He knew he would have to tell her, eventually. Things had gone from weird to complicated in a big damned hurry. He hadn’t even had to look around much to know he would never be able to give her what this Jensen guy already had. By the look of things, she had everything, and more.

    By the time he finished his beer, he found a room that looked more his speed. It was in a part of the house that was away from the main rooms. It was quiet, comfortable and reminded him of Bobby’s cabin. After a little nosing around, he found a stashed bottle of bourbon that was already half-empty. He grabbed one of the tumblers that were stashed with the bottle and poured himself a tall one.

    Dean grabbed a photo album from the coffee table and got comfortable on the plush leather couch and started leafing through the pages. It was full of (Y|N) and Jensen’s life. After the tenth page of nauseating happiness, he got irritated again. He closed the album and unceremoniously tossed it back on the coffee table. Finding the remote, he turned on the TV.

    “Good bourbon, at least,” he said, pouring himself another.

    Halfway through his second glass, he started getting drowsy.

* * *

 

    On thing Dean had always been exceptional at doing was sleeping anywhere, anytime. In your bare feet, you moved silently across the wood floor to the couch where he’d fallen asleep. You sat on the corner of the coffee table and studied him. It was so strange. Jensen looked exactly like Dean, and yet, even sleeping, you could tell that the man in front of you was not your husband. Dean carried the unrelenting weight of the world on him and it was obvious, even when sleeping. Jensen slept without a care in the world. 

    You knelt on the floor in front of him, your hand gently resting on top of his, lightly clasping his wrist. He breathed in sharply but didn’t jerk away.

    “Dean?” you kept your voice low and soothing.

    His eyes opened slowly.

    He sighed, “I’ve missed you.” He shifted in his spot on the couch, the leather groaning under his weight, reaching out an arm to pull you to his chest. “Nobody wakes me up like you.”

    “Hey handsome,” you smiled into his drowsy eyes. You’d always liked how Dean felt when pressed against you. He wasn’t muscle bound, but the power he held within his body was exhilarating. You’d seen what he could do, what he could withstand, while terrifying to witness in battle, he always had a gentle, caring hand for you. He made you feel safe and you realized you’d been missing that feeling.

    Dean watched your expression change from that of warmth and content, to something else completely.

   “You alright?” he asked, his frown making a deep crease between his brows.

    You were feeling guilty. You loved Jensen as much as you could for someone in love with another man. In all the years you’d been with Jensen, the best he could get out of you paled in comparison to the way Dean made you feel. Jensen tried hard, but he could only get close.

    Nodding and pushing up off his chest, you told him why you were there. “Time to eat. Better hurry, I left Sam in charge of serving the food.”

   He sat up quickly, “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

* * *

 

    Over dinner, you recounted your story about how you persistently pursued “Sebastian Roche,” the man you had known as the angel Balthazar, for Dean’s benefit.

    “Hit you with a restraining order, did he?” Dean chuckled.

    You sighed remembering, “You know… I just wanted to go home, and I was sure that salty bastard was hiding something, almost certain of it.” You paused wishing your ears and cheeks didn’t betray you so easily. You mustered the primmest tone you could manage, “I regret nothing.”

    The twinkle appeared in Dean’s green eyes. He couldn’t hide the bit of pride and humor he felt from his voice, “Ok, stalker, where is he now?”

    “Why do you think I know? 

    Sam did little to hide the smile on his face.

    “You never give up when you want an answer. Always on the case until the job is done,” he said, clearly enjoying the pink hue on your skin. He waggled his eyebrows at you, “Come onnnnn.”

    “Fine. London. Okay? He’s in London. Wanna fly there, smartass, or want to wait for him to come back?” Effectively shutting down the ribbing he was giving you, you smirked, “That’s what I thought, tough guy.”

    “You got mean,” he grumbled.

    “And you got soft,” you whispered.

    Dean was going to take the bait until Sam cut him off, “There’s one thing that’s been bothering me, if Dean and I are here, where are Jared and Jensen?”

    You’d had actual years to think on that very subject. It had broken your heart to think that Dean and Sam might no longer exist. You’d been quite alive in the other universe and were now alive and kicking in this one.

    “Oh… poor Jensen…” you felt genuine concern for the man you married. “I hope he’s holed up somewhere.”

    “What’s the matter? Can’t he handle a little demon hunting?” Dean jabbed.

    “He’s an actor, Dean, not a hunter like us,” you defended him.

    “Like us, huh?” Dean mused, suddenly feeling a pang of jealousy again. He took another drink, “Yeah, nobody can hunt as good as me and Sammy.”

   “Dean,” Sam scolded.

    “You’re a dick,” you said, getting up from your seat. “There’s a few spare rooms upstairs, pick one. I’m done for the night.”

    “(Y|N)!” Sam called after you.

    “Nope! Goodnight, boys,” you said back, resisting the urge to fly the bird.

* * *

    Sam watched as (Y|N) went to the stairs in the foyer. She reached out to touch the locks on the door before heading up the stairs. Sam’s attention snapped back to Dean as soon as she was out of sight. Dean was leaned back in his chair finishing off a dinner roll.

    Sam stared at his brother, still shocked by his remark.

    “Dude.”

    Dean was chewing a mouthful of roll, “What?”

    “You just said she wasn’t a hunter. 

    “She’s not,” he said. “She’s been here 5 years, not hunting. There’s no magic here. No monsters. No hoodoo. Not hunting.”

    “You know damn well that’s not how it works,” Sam said. “You never stopped, even when you should have.”

    “She knows I didn’t mean it,” Dean reasoned.

    They both knew better. 

    “You need to talk to her,” instructed Sam. “Tell her you’re an ass, apologize. If you have any hope for her to comeback with us, or help us get back, you need to talk to her. Get over whatever it is going on with you.

    Dean sat back in his seat considering Sam’s words. It had been one hell of a day. If that Jensen dude had suddenly appeared right in front of him, he couldn’t say on way or another if he would deck the guy, or if would wish him well. One thing he did know, he still loved (Y|N) and wanted her to come back. He’d wished for her to come back to him…

    “How’s she gonna help, Sam? She’s been here a long time. Maybe she doesn’t want to come back,” he looked around at the house, “Can’t say I’d blame her. I can’t give here all of this.”

    “Talk. To. Her.”

* * *

 

    He found you in your room at the end of the hall. He didn’t knock, but carefully opened the door to see you pacing the floor and cussing him.

    “(Y|N)?” he ventured.

    You picked up the nearest object and whipped it in the direction of the voice, purely reacting to the unexpected sound in your room.

    “Whoa! Easy!” Dean said from the door.

    You stalked over to him, your rage fueling you.

    “You’re lucky I didn’t take your dumb head off. You know you shouldn’t sneak up on me!” you were pacing back and forth again. “How dare you suggest I’m not a good hunter! I saved your ass more than once, goddamnit. Who had your back when Sam was in college, because it sure as shit wasn’t your dad!” You went back to stand in front of him, your rage making the tears start to well up, “And… and… I tried for years, YEARS to find a way back. I had to hide it from Jensen, even after we got married.”

    “And just how long did you wait before you married a stranger?” he asked.

    It took all you had to resist the urge to punch him right in the face. Instead, you back handed his stomach hard enough to make your wrist ache. He let out a satisfying “oof!” and you were back pacing. Slower this time.

    “We’ve only been married two years, jerk, and I was with him for the time before that, too. I care about him and sometimes, he brings YOU home and I don’t feel so alone. When I first got here, I hung around with him, so I could stay close to the show, to maybe figure out how I got here.”

    “Would you stop with the pacing? Come here,” he said, holding his hand out to you. “I’m sorry, okay? I was outta line. It’s been a long time. I don’t like the thought of you with him, even if it’s sorta me.”

    You stopped in front of him, your arms folded over your stomach. He was walking a fine line and you were not going to listen to any more bullshit.

    Dean rubbed his chin. He supposed it was as good a time as any to open discussion about (Y|N) go to be in bizarro world.

    “Can we sit?” he asked.

    “No, tell me what you did. Please say you didn’t make a deal with Crowley,” you could never really stay mad at Dean for too long, there was always something more pressing that needed to be dealt with.

    “I didn’t. I, ah, I went the other way,” he hemmed. He saw your patience was very thin. He reached out, his fingers sliding down your left arm to pull your hand out. “You died in my arms, sweetheart. I knew you were dead, Sam knew you were dead.” He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it hard to breathe. “I should have been there to have your back. I should have gone with you when you asked. No matter what I did, I couldn’t get to you fast enough. You died because of me.” His hand tightened around yours, “I put the ring on your finger. I couldn’t look at it without you around I…” he paused, “Geeze, why is this so hard? I asked God to bring you back to me, to make you whole. I promised I would keep you safe as long as it wasn’t the end.”

    “No deals?”

    He shook his head, “I didn’t think he heard me.”

    “How in the hell did I get here? Does God get confused?”

    “You know, I don’t really care why you’re here. I’m just glad you’re alive and you’re with me. I’m good with…however it happened. What do you say we figure out how to get back home?”

    His arm slipped around your waist and you didn’t push him away. You needed him, always had. Jensen was a decent substitute, but he never made you feel the way Dean did. Your arms went up over his and he pulled you in tight to his body. He felt like home, a place you hadn’t realized you were missing, and that it was the only place you should be.

    You knew in your gut that Sebastian Roche either had the information you needed or was Balthazar and could send you back to your world. You had questions you thought only he could answer.

    What would happen to Jensen? Would you be erased from this timeline? Where was he? Would he even care if you left? You knew he loved you in his way, but not the way you deserved. If he was really in love with you, he wouldn’t do some of the things he did.

    “You wanna fly to London? …or do you and Sam want to hang out here until Sebastian comes back?” you asked, not impervious to Dean and how firmly he was holding you to his body. 

    “I really want to get home, but… I mean, I really would like to say here, get… reacquainted,” Dean smiled slightly, the two have you had been anything but acquainted. 

    “Sounds really good,” you admitted.

   “I’m sorry I was such a jerk, earlier,” he said.

    You crooked your arm around his neck, “I’ll let you make it up to me.”

    “I’ll make it up to you,” his lips were so close, but not touching you yet, “all night long. 

    Smiling at him, he finally closed the minimal space between you. You breathed deeply, relishing his kiss this time. His teeth scraped at your bottom lip. Parting your lips, he kissed you with all the pent-up passion he still carried for you. Eager to taste you, his tongue played at yours. Soft, rough, languid, urgent. He could barely contain himself. You were smiling when he finally broke the kiss, your eyes slow to open.

    “Do you still remember how to do that thing I like?” you asked. 

    He thought for a few seconds, a big grin forming on his handsome face, “The one where I…”

   You nodded.

   He kissed you again, “Yes, ma’am.”

    “Close the door.”


End file.
